If You Cannot Make It Different

Ever: if you cannot make it different or better, make it holy.

- Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Today CE wrote the line above in her piece about the loss of a child (for those of you who do Facebook, you can read the whole beautiful piece here).

Estes' piece touched me deeply, because my baby lies under winter's brown grass in a cemetery two miles from my home.  My baby's tiny body has been there for thirty-three years now.  His presence has been in my heart even longer.

If I can't make different or better what happened to my baby, I can make the loss holy, sacred.  Even in the most tremendous loss, there is beauty and grace.  I know it.

If I cannot rid Michael's body of cancer, I can make living with cancer in my house holy, honoring the teachings, the life changes, and the love that have come from it.

If I cannot give a warm home to the man in the sleeping bag beside the South Platte River, I can see my sadness, his face, and his predicament as holy.  That changes our relationship, doesn't it?

How can murder, war, living with PTSD or poverty or incredible pain be made holy?  We really can't "make" any of them anything.  But we can change the direction from which we look at them.  We can honor the pain and suffering, not being afraid to look the person or the issue in the eye, to touch them with our hearts and gentle hands.  To say,

"I see you.  You are not alone.  I am here with you.  I am not afraid of being with your suffering.  I see your pain, and I see your wholeness."

~~~

This morning I went to the cemetery to take the photo of my baby's grave marker.  While there, I thought I wanted to photograph the sky above his head - this is what Brian would see if he were able to look up.  (I know, I'm weird.)  So, I stretched out on my back next to Brian, and shot this view of the sky above my angel's head.

When I sat up and then kneeled to take a couple more shots, I noticed goose poop next to me.  Oh, yeah, I forgot about the geese...  I checked the knees of my pants, and I patted down my back.  All good.

I left the cemetery in time to drive to my therapy appointment.  After sitting in the waiting room a few minutes, Karen called me into her office where I sat on her black leather couch.  You know where this is going, don't you?  I sat down, and Karen looked next to me, and said, "What's this?"  I immediately knew what it was.  A green piece of holy shit!

Yeah.  I bet that was a first for Karen.  "Hey Honey, you'll never believe what one of my clients did today!"